Dark In Here
by Queen Of Dead Hearts
Summary: "He's Perceptive," she realized with a mix of approval and worry. She was glad that her subject wasn't dense, but when one was undead one tended to avoid overly perceptive humans.
1. They Call Me Crazy

**They Call Me Crazy**

Josh's day started off like any other Tuesday. He was sitting in his physcologist's office while Dr. Blackthorn continued to try and get him to talk. About his "feelings" mostly. But, in Josh's opinion, she should've given up by now. He'd been seeing her every week for the last year and she really hadn't made much progress with him.

"So. . . You start junior year in a few weeks," she continued, "How do you feel about that?"  
He simply shrugged.

"Are you excited?" she wondered.  
"Not really," he said honestly.

She sighed. "Joshua, you really need to open up more. You're uncomfortable with speaking about your feelings on even the most basic level. I understand why you may not want to talk about negative feelings, even if bottling them up _is _unhealthy. But you won't talk about _positive _feelings either. You won't even share about something as simple as starting school. You are completely closed off."

He didn't say anything. He knew that already.  
Dr. Blackthorn sighed again and began scribbling on a notepad. "I'm going to call your school guidance counselor and arrange for your meetings with her. Two sessions a week."

"That's twice more then last year," he exclaimed, "I thought I was like . . . better now? What the hell?"  
"You are and you aren't," she explained, "Your behavior has improved but I have my doubts about your mental state. You share nothing and it's impossible to know how you're really feeling."

Josh groaned. There was only one thing he hated more then going to see his therapist. And that was talking to the school guidance counselor.  
"Twice a week," she said decidedly.

"Okay, fine whatever," he mumbled, getting up.  
Mrs. Blackthorn sighed. "Oh fine. See you next week then Joshua," she said, "Be good."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered dismissively as he walked out the door. The receptionist, Gail, waved to him as he left the office. He walked down the hallway and caught the elevator just before the door closed. He tapped his flip flop wearing foot while he waited for it to descend. He noticed a middle aged woman with fingernails bitten down to the nub eyeing him oddly, probably wondering what could be possibly wrong with this typical Californian teenager. Josh just rolled his eyes; he knew he didn't look like he belonged here.

When he got out of the building he put his shades on to keep from being blinded by the bright sunlight. He then began his walk down to the beach. It was hot and humid out, despite being nearly September. But that was just southern California for you. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck as he walked through one of those rich neighbors that led down to the beach.

Josh looked up when he heard a loud wolf whistle from nearby. His eyes immediately went to the two teenage girls sun bathing on lounge chairs on the lush green front lawn of one of the expensive houses. The house was on a hill and the two girls were slightly elevated. They were paler then the average Californian. Actually, they were paler then the average Canadian. They were both very pretty though.

One appeared tall and had long straight light blonde hair. Her pink bikini with the white polka dots was skimpy and showed tons of pale skin. She had a sun hat over her head and an ice tea in one hand. She had lowered the shades over her eyes to be able to peer at Josh suggestively.

The other girl appeared to be the same age but much smaller with an equally nice body. She had long brownish red hair with a considerable amount of volume. She had on a more simple black bikini with dark sunglasses over her eyes as well. Josh took notice of the bracelet on her wrist for some reason. It was silver with about a billion charms that caught the bright light.

"Hey there hot stuff!" called the blonde girl before dissolving into giggles.  
"Stella!" rebuked the smaller girl, swatting her friend's arm.

"What? I'm just having fun," the Stella girl complained.  
The other girl rolled her eyes and got off her lounge chair. She pranced down the slight hill to the sidewalk. Josh noticed how her boobs bounced while she ran and her charm bracelet was rattling. _Clink clink clink. _

"Please excuse my sister," she apologized with a slight British accent.  
"Nah it's fine," he said honestly.

"No really. She does this quite often. It's rather tiresome," she explained, "It's as if she has no manners at all."  
"Really, it's fine," he told her, "I went to New York last winter break. Their rudeness blows her out of the water."

The girl laughed. "I forget that were in America now . . . Back home most people don't tolerate her obnoxious behavior."  
"Oh . . .you're new here? Where from? England?" he guessed, based on her accent.

"No . . . We've been in Italy these past few years," she said.  
"Oh, that's cool," he said.

"Yes . . . very _cool_," she said.  
"Yeah . . . Well see you around uh. . ." he trailed off.

"Helena Savage," she finished, holding out her hand. He just stared at it.  
She let the hand fall to the side limply when he didn't shake it. To be honest, he'd just been surprised by the gesture. Who shook hands anymore?

He didn't get why she introduced herself so formally but decided to play along. "Uh I'm Joshua Steele," he said with slight sarcasm.  
"Nice to meet you Joshua," she said.

"Yeah, same," he said, "See you around."  
"Bye!" she chirped excitedly as he began walking down the rest of the way to the beach.

When he turned around she was still standing on the sidewalk, waving and hopping up and down. Josh laughed and shook his head indulgently. Hyper little British chick . . .

He continued his walk down to the populated beach, scouring out for his friends. He spotted them sitting at there usual spot, on a collection of towels, close to the water. His friend Alex was rubbing sun tan lotion on some chick's back while Carter was talking and flirting with two girls. And of course, Luke was making out with some chick under a beach umbrella.

Josh rolled his eyes as he approached them. All the chicks his friends picked up were always the same. Golden blondes with tanned skin who did yoga, drank girly drinks, and went to the beach every day but never went in the water. Josh used to have been attracted to girls like that, and he'd even "been with" some of them before. But he'd begun to become immune to them.

"Oh hey Josh!" called Carter when he reached them, "Back from the shrink?"  
"Shut up," he snapped, kicking sand in his face. The two girls sitting next to him giggled.

"Girls, this is our friend Josh," Carter said, "Be warned, he's a little cuckoo in the head."  
"I think it's cool," one ditzy blonde said, "Anyone whose anyone in LA has a therapist now a days. It's like a prada bag or gucci sunglasses."

Josh rolled his eyes and sat down next to the others. He didn't feel the need to mention that he didn't have a therapist so he could whine about his petty problems like some ritzy socalite. He had one because his teachers, mom, guidance counselor, principle, and the state all thought he needed professional help.

"So Josh, these are our new friends Amber and Kayla. And that's Jenna," Carter introduced the girls, "And the girl sucking face with Luke is Sienna."  
"So where'd you meet them?" Josh asked dryly, picking up sand and letting it fall through his fingers repeatedly.

"In the foodcourt down at the mall," Carter said.  
"Yeah," the blonde named Kayla said, "I was looking for the straws . . . But like I couldn't find them. And then I bumped into Carter."

"Well isn't that a _fascinating _story," Josh said sarcastically.  
"I know right?" agreed Amber as if he'd been serious.

The rest of the afternoon continued in a similar fashion. The conversations were uneducated and silly. The girls giggled at everything the guys said and squealed when Alex splashed them with water. The boys showed off by surfing and the girls made spectacles of themselves by asking for help putting on their sun tan lotion.

When the sun was setting and most of the families had left the beach, only the teenagers and young adults remained. Josh's particular group had made a fire in their usual fire pit with logs around it for sitting. It was around eight and they were all sitting around the fire, all of them having a good time except for Josh. The Amber chick was hanging all over him but he didn't care in the slightest.

"Who wants beer," asked Luke, pulling beers out of the cooler. His question was answered a chorus of calls and squeals.  
"Do you have any Mike's Hard Lemonade?" asked Kayla, "I don't really like beer."

"Lucky for you, I came prepared," Luke said, pulling out a few bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade, which he gave to the girls. None of which could handle beer apparently. _Damn prisses,_ Josh thought as he popped open a beer.

He sat there mutely, drinking his beer while the others laughed and Amber flirted with him. He found himself staring at the flames with a sort of eerie transfixition. He stayed like that for a while, until he pressed the bottle to his lips and realized that he'd finished his beer. He checked his cell phone then, which proclaimed it to be almost nine.

"I gotta go," he said.  
"Awww why?" complained Amber.

"I have to go make dinner," he explained.  
"Aren't you a good little housewife?" teased Alex, wrapping an arm around Josh's neck in a mocking choke hold while he ruffled his hair.

"Shut up man," Josh told him, elbowing him in the ribs. The others laughed as Josh began walking away.  
"See ya latter man!" called Luke. Josh lifted a hand over his shoulder in a half wave without turning around.

He shuffled his way out of the beach and up the street he'd come down before. He passed Helena's house on the way. Her and the Stella girl's lounge chairs were still outside, but they were empty. The lights in the fancy house were on.

Josh kept walking and walking, the glass bottle dangling from his fingertips. When he was a block away from his house he dropped the bottle on the sidewalk, letting it shatter. He arrived at his small one floor ranch style house a few moments later. Their German shepherd, Vinnie, was outside and started barking when he saw Josh. He opened the gate and Vinnie plowed into him, wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey boy," Josh said, petting the dog's head. He walked up the path to the front door and unlocked it. Once he opened the door Vinnie ran inside. The sounds and smells of a busy household were all around Josh. He could hear his little sisters yelling at the dog who had probably just knocked over some of their toys. He could hear his older sisters talking in the kitchen and smell wine.

He walked up three quick stairs so that he was in the kitchen. His two older sisters, Shea and Meredith were sitting at the kitchen table. Meredith was in her third year of college but still lived at home since her school was in the city. She was only his half sister so they didn't look very much alike. She had brown eyes and light brown hair. She was generally tan like most people in California and was dressed for Summer. She was working at her laptop at the table.

Shea was sitting across from her, painting her nails black while still maintaining conversation. Shea was about to start her senior year of high school and was Josh's full sister. They looked pretty alike, or at least they used to. Shea had dyed her hair black with white underneath and always wore it in a spikey shag cut. She had snake bites in her lip and one piercing in her eyebrow. She was tan, a result of living in California, but wore a ton of Goth makeup. It was ninety degrees in the house but she was wearing skinny jeans.

"You're late," Meredith said.  
"And you smell like beer," Shea added.

"And this whole place smells like cheap wine," he pointed out dryly as he made his way over to the fridge. He began taking out ingredients for spaghetti.  
"When hasn't it?" Shea asked rhetorically.

"Before we moved here, I'm guessing," he said as he filled a pot with water.  
"No talking, just cooking," Meredith commanded, "I'm hungry."

"Then maybe you could've started dinner yourself," he suggested as he turned on the stove.  
"No can do little brother. _I _started school a week ago and I'm already swamped," she explained.

"And what about you Shea?" he asked, "What's so direly important that you couldn't start dinner?"  
"Hey, it's your night to cook. I made dinner last night," she defended herself.

"Oh yes, that _delicious _meat loaf," he muttered sarcastically.  
"Just shut up and cook," she mumbled dismissively.

He did just that. He cooked his spaghetti in silence while his two older sisters talked. Once it was ready Shea helped set the table while Meredith put her laptop away and went to go get everyone for dinner.

Once the food was on the table Josh's younger sisters arrived. Six year old Chloe, nine year old Rosalyn, and fourteen year old Marla. All of them were Josh's full sisters, and seeing as they hadn't yet began to alter their appearances, looked like him. They all had dirty blonde hair, big blue eyes, and tan skin.

Marla was fast becoming a barbie doll, just like the girls from the beach. Sure, the family didn't have the sufficent funds for prada bags and such, but she was still doing her part. She spent hours styling her long blonde hair and applying makeup. She was friends with all the rich girls despite being poor. She was pretty though, and that was all that was needed.

They were all already seated when their mother came in. She was your average single mother of six. She was in her late fourties with light brown hair with blonde highlights. She was tan and probably once very pretty. But now she had bags under her blue eyes and worry lines on her face. She had a tattoo of a rose on her lower back and one of a spider on the back of her neck. She was thin and tall, dressed in her sweats. She got home from work at seven and was too tired to cook, so the older kids took turns preparing dinner.

"What's for dinner?" she wondered as she came in.  
"Josh made spaghetti," Meredith announced.

"Thank you Josh," she said as she sat down at her usual spot. The dinner was loud like always and Josh felt no desire to try and make conversation with anyone. He was the only boy in a family of six girls. _Six. _He had five sisters and no father. He'd learned long ago that, at dinner, he was better off not even trying to say anything.

After dinner Marla did the dishes and Josh went into his room. The only good part about being the only boy was that he was the only one who had his own room. The two older girls shared a room and the three younger ones all lived in the basement which had been transformed into a large bedroom/playroom for them.

He listened to his IPod for a few hours before coming back out. It was almost midnight so Chloe and Rosalyn were in bed. Meredith and Shea were sitting on the couch, drinking cheap wine, even though neither of them were twenty one. His mom wasn't around but Marla was curled up in the old armchair, texting.

"Where's mom?" he wondered as he walked in.  
"Next door. Carrie's having a girl's night," Meredith said. Carrie was the single mom who lived next door and was pretty much just like Josh's mother. Irresponsible, fun . . . Not very "mom-ish" basically.

"Oh okay," he mumbled, sitting down next to Shea.  
"You have a hickey on your neck Joshua," Marla pointed out matter-of-factly.

Josh wasn't surprised. That Amber chick had been sucking on his neck all night. Why? He had no idea . . . In vain attempts to get him to like her perhaps?  
"Your point?" he asked dryly.

"That mom didn't say anything," she said, "But when _I _had a hickey that time she screamed at me for like ever."  
"That's because I'm two years older then you," Josh said.

"No . . . It's because Josh is a boy," Shea cut in, "And as long as he doesn't get a girl pregnant, mom doesn't give a fuck what he does."  
"Thank you Shea," Josh said dryly.

"What? It's a fact? Mom's sexist," she said with a shrug.  
"Are you kidding me? Mom has no respect for men," he said.

"Well can you blame her? Her first husband cheated on her and well . . . dad . . . " Shea trailed off, not wanting to talk about their father.  
"Yeah, whatever, I'll be in my room," he said, upset at just the vague mentioning of his father. He got up and grabbed the half empty wine bottle off the coffee table. Nobody said anything as he walked back into his room.

Once inside he locked his door and flopped down on his unmade bed. He cranked up his stereo, letting the angry melodies of _Nickelback_ and Holl_ywood Undead_ fill his room. He knew the whole house could hear it but nobody told him to turn it down. He mellowed out to the harsh music and the cheap wine for a while. Eventually he ended up passing out.

_In his dream he was staring down a long corridor of barred cells. And he could hear the _clink clink clink _of chains being dragged across the floor. He whirled around and tried to run but was immediatly grabbed by large powerful arms. He struggled and struggled but he couldn't get free. The corridor had melted away and now he was out in front of his house, which was now on fire. He could hear his sisters and mother inside, screaming and burning. He tried to break free, to go and help them, but he couldn't escape those arms. The house disappeared too eventually and then he was on the edge of a cliff. He squirmed around in his captors arms so that he was facing him. He looked up at that hard face and those souless dark eyes. And then the strong arms were pushing him away, off the side of the cliff. He didn't scream as he fell. He knew that no matter how much he screamed nobody would come and save him anyway._

He woke up in his dark room, breathing hard. His music was still blasting and the empty bottle of wine lay on his nightstand. His clock read four thirty. Groaning, Josh rolled out of bed. He was still shaking from the nightmare as he went to turn off his sterio. He climbed back into bed groggily, exhausted. He thought he'd fall asleep quickly but he didn't. The _clink clink clink _of chains still ran through his mind, keeping him up for some reason.

No wonder he was in therapy.


	2. Living In A Shell With No Soul

**Living In A Shell With No Soul**

For Helena, this was just another move. They were always moving. Italy, England, Greece, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Russia, Brazil, Canada . . . The list went on and on. She had lived in dozens of countries and visited almost all of them, except for France. She would _never _go to France.

But now she was here, in LA. She'd been to America before but had never came to California. It was unlike any other place she'd ever been. It was so hot and so sunny. She'd spent a great deal of time in Europe recently. The cold had almost grown on her. It was such an extreme contrast to the humidity of Los Angeles though. She almost wanted to stay in the air conditioning all day long, but of course Stella had to drag her outside.

Stella wasn't Helena's real sister, but she was just as annoying as one. They'd been living together for a long time and were like sisters in every inconceivable way. They'd go from fighting one minute to being best friends the next. No matter how old they got, that never changed.

So that's how Helena ended up sitting on their front lawn, sun bathing with Stella. She didn't really see the point. Neither of them were ever going to get any tanner. Besides, why flaunt how pale they were in a town kissed by the sun?

"Hey Helena, Lacey and I were talking earlier about some of the young men in this town. They are all pretty sexy aren't they?" teased Stella.  
"I don't know . . . " she said, "They're attractive men everywhere we go, aren't there?"

"Well yes . . . But there's something about the guys here . . . They're all so tan and muscular. Not to mention that they're always shirtless. Mmmm."  
Helena laughed. "You are so oversexed Stella," she said.

"Well how can I not be in this town? I mean look at that dish over there," she said, nodding to a boy walking down the road towards them. He looked like he was in his mid teens, sixteen or seventeen perhaps. He looked pretty tall but she couldn't be sure since she was currently elevated. He was tan of course, like every human in that blasted city. He had shaggy dirty blonde hair and a very pretty face. Even from this distance, she could see his big bright blue eyes and silver lip ring. He was dressed in black knee-length swim trunks and a white wife beater tank top. She could tell he had a nice body, but he wasn't overly muscled.

"Mmmm scrumpscious," Stella purred, licking her lips.  
"You are so vulgar sometimes . . . " Helena muttered.

"Hey . . . I bet I can get his attention," she challenged.  
"But of course you can, you're half naked after all . . ."

"Watch," she said and then wolf whistled at the boy. Helena rolled her eyes. One day Stella was going to get arrested for sexual harassment and Helena wasn't going to bail her out. Not again.

The boy looked up at the noise. His eyes scanned over the girls, probably taking in their pale skin. But Helena knew that wasn't all he was taking in. She'd had many an experience with hormone crazed teenage boys.

"Hey there hot stuff!" Stella called, giggling while she undressed the boy with her eyes.  
"Stella!" she exclaimed, swatting her sister's arm. Really, she was just so . . . up front sometimes.

"What? I'm just having fun," she defended herself. Helena sighed and got off her lawn chair. This was what she always did. Cleaned up Stella's messes and cooled down angry wives whose husbands had had . . . encounters with Stella. It was just what she always did.

She jogged over to the boy, who was watching her with interest. Her assessment of his height was correct. She only about reached his chin. Not like height had any importance. She could snap his neck without exerting any effort. Not that she would ever do that to an innocent human boy though.

"Please excuse my sister," she said, hoping the young man wouldn't find Stella's comments offensive or degrading.  
"Nah it's fine," he said nonchalantly, seeming unaffected.

"No really. She does this quite often," she attempted to explain, "It's rather tiresome. It's as if she has no manners at all."  
"Really, it's fine," he insisted, "I went to New York last winter break. Their rudeness blows her out of the water."

Oh Helena knew that. She'd been to New York before and Stella fit in perfectly there. Stella was from Italy but New Yorkers were defiantly her people.  
"I forget that we're in America now," she said, "Most people back home don't tolerate her obnoxious behavior."

"Oh you're new here?" he wondered, "Where from? England?"  
He was actually right . . . She was from England but she hadn't been there in decades.

"No . . . We've been in Italy these past few years," she explained.  
"Oh that's cool," he mumbled.

"Yes . . . very _cool_," Helena said, experimenting with the word. Over the years there were always so many new slang words she could never keep up. The last time she'd been in America the popular words had been _far out _and _groovy. _And _man_ of course . . . They just put the word _man_ at the end of everything. Then again, last time she was in America everyone and their mother was smoking pot so maybe that was why.

"Yeah . . . Well see you around uh . . ." he trailed off, as if waiting for her name.  
"Oh . . . Helena Savage," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. The boy just stared at it in confusion? What? Didn't Californians know what a handshake was?

She let the hand drop when he didn't shake it.  
"Uh I'm Joshua Steele," he said.

"Nice to meet you Joshua," she chirped. She really did love intermingling with the native humans, learning their culture.  
"Yeah same," he muttered, "See you around."

"Bye!" she called as he began walking away. He looked over his shoulder once and smiled faintly at her. Once he was out of sight, Stella started laughing.  
"What?" Helena asked innocently as she began walking back up the hill.

"Looks to me like you my darling have eyes for that particular young lad," Stella said with a mock British accent.  
"Are you makin' fun of the way I talk now Stella?" she demanded as she took her seat in her lounge chair.

"I've been doing it for centuries, why would I stop now?" she teased, "I'm so good at it."  
"I can think of a few other things you've been doing for centuries that you're good at . . ." Helena muttered.

"Oh shut up!" she said, swatting her arm, "You're the one whose thinking about going after that human boy."  
"I am not going to tap off that boy!" she exclaimed.

"Oh sure you're not," she teased, "I saw those eyes all over him."  
"Please, you're practically a sexual offender."

"Only in the state of Vermont," she defended herself.  
Helena laughed and rolled her eyes as they were joined by their other sister, Lacey. She was tall and pale with long curly black hair. She had already adapted to the California styles. She was dressed in a red tank top, tiny shorts, and flip flops.

"You missed it Lace, the hottest guy just walked by," Stella said.  
"You'd think that after all these years you'd be immune to attractive men . . ." Helena muttered.

"You would say that," Lacey piped in, "You've always been immune to them."  
"What can I say? I'm not easily impressed by beauty," she said, "It's what's on the inside that counts."

"And everyone wonders why you're still single . . ." Stella mumbled.  
"Well I don't see either of you with mates," she defended herself.

"We don't have _permanent _mates," Lacey edited, "But we have had mates before. You haven't. At least not since America was a country . . ."  
"Well, I'll have you know that I don't need a man to validate my existence," she sniffed, getting up, "Thank you very much."

"Fine. Suit yourself," Lacey said as Helena walked up the hill and into their house. It was a nice, big house. But so were all of their houses. Most of the furniture was already set up. Most of it was new but a few old pieces remained. They were always replacing their things with more modernized things. Don't even get her started on clothes. It seemed like they had to throw out their entire wardrobes every six months. The trends were always changing nowadays.

There was one thing she would never get rid of though. The oldest thing left in the entire house. Her charm bracelet. Nothing would ever _ever _make her take it off. It was a relic of her past, a token of her former life. It was the most important physical object to her.

She began jogging up the spiral staircase, the charms on her bracelet clinking as she did. She went into her room, which she hardly considered _her _room. The only room that had ever felt like her's was back in England, and it had burned down with the rest of the house centuries ago. This room was just a room to her. It was filled with things you'd expect to find in a normal sixteen year old's room, accompanied with a few personal items of Helena's.

She went into her wardrobe and pulled out a thin black sundress. She pulled it on over her bathing suit and slipped on some simple black flip flops. Helena was always wearing black. She wasn't what an average American considered 'Goth.' She wore black because it reflected how she felt on the inside. The color of mourning.

Helena went downstairs then but slipped out the back to avoid talking to Stella and Lacey. She cut across several lawns before emerging onto the sidewalk, sure that her sisters wouldn't see her. She then began walking aimlessly through LA. She went to all the most populated places to observe the humans there. She just loved observing the ever changing human culture; she loved watching them interact. She had degrees in everything under the sun but psychologist had always been her favorite. Nothing interested her more then the human mind. Besides, she loved helping people. Maybe next time they moved she would go get another degree in psychology and try to start her own practice. Maybe as a child psychologist or a school guidance counselor. She loved kids, and teenagers fascinated her.

So she traveled to all the popular hang outs. She went to malls and didn't buy a thing. She got an order of french fries at one of the food courts and considered that her dinner. She went to the parks and street fairs, visited a few flea markets. She went to art exhibits and museums as well. Everywhere she went she noticed people staring at her. Why they had chosen to come to California was a mystery to her. Sure, Stella wanted to experience LA, but they were such outcasts here. At least back in Europe they were only slightly paler then average. But here, they're skin looked like snow next to the native humans.

She interacted with some people. Some of them approached her and some she approached. She was usually approached by teenage guys, who had somehow gotten past her pale skin and become interested by her beauty. They'd flirt with her and Helena would let them, just for the chance to learn more about the native humans. The boys would ask if she was from England and she would say yes. They'd say the accent gave it away and she would say that no matter how much she traveled she never lost her accent. They'd joke and say that give it a few weeks and she'd start to talk like a Californian. They'd tell her that she'd even start to tan after a while. She'd laugh even though neither of those statements were true.

The people she usually approached were the ones she saw at art exhibits and museums. The creative ones, the intellectual ones. They were always eager to talk to her, noting her obvious outcast stature. They'd talk about exhibits with her, and when she mentioned that she traveled a lot they would ask about the places she'd been to. She talked to the elderly women selling fruit at an outdoor market. The woman had been born in 1937 and it amazed Helena that that seemed like just yesterday to her. God, she was old . . .

Her day continued like that for a while, until after the sun had set and she realized she'd done everything she wanted to do. After that, she began her walk back home in the dark. Not that it bothered her. Helena could see perfectly no matter what.

While walking down her street she noticed a boy walking in the opposite direction. He had his eyes on the pavement and a bottle dangled from his fingertips. He smelled of alcohol yet he didn't seem particularly drunk. Under closer inspection she realized it was the boy from before, Joshua. He didn't seem to notice Helena but that didn't surprise her. Despite the street lamps, it was pretty dark out. Not to mention, Helena was pretty silent. The only sound she made was the _clink clink clink _of her charm bracelet as she walked. But there was no way the boy could hear that over the laughter of routy teenagers coming from the beach.

Helena stopped moving then, standing perfectly still across the street from the boy. She watched him as he walked, head down, eyes on the ground. He seemed forlorn, depressed even. The psychologist in her wanted to know why, and wanted to make it better. She considered following him but decided not to at the last second. She was above stalking some human just to find out what was wrong with their life. Besides, she'd probably see him again. He'd passed her house twice already in one day.

She went home then, to find her sisters in various situations. Lacey was cooking in the kitchen while Stella was reading in the den. Helena didn't really feel like talking to any of them, so she went upstairs to 'her' room. She hung out up their for a while, feeling aimless. She sat out on her little terrace, looking at the ocean. She stayed like that for hours, waiting until the entire beach was cleared out at about four in the morning. Once it was empty she decided to go down. She jumped lightly off her terrace and walked leisurely down to the vacated beach.

It was completely barren of all human life, even with Helena present. She kicked off her flip flops and abandoned them, allowing her to feel the warm sand on her feet. She walked past the remnants of the night's raptures, down towards the water. She stepped on some broken glass on her way, but she hardly noticed. When she reached the water she let it run over her feet. It felt warm and she happily strode in more, until she was up to her knees.

She hadn't been to a beach in years and certainly hadn't been in the Pacific Ocean in decades. She'd almost forgotten what the tropical water felt like. Well, if it was possible for her to forget anything.

She waded around in the water for a while, letting the tides rush over her. She stared up at the almost full moon while the salt water dampened the hem of her dress. She could care less about getting her clothes wet. After a while, she came mostly out of the water and sat down on the very edge of it, where the sand was wet from the tides. She was getting sand in her dress but she didn't care. She pressed her hand into the wet sand, creating a hand print and then letting the tide wash it away.

She stayed like that for a long time, long enough to watch the sun rise. After watching the sun brighten the sky with pinks and oranges, she decided to go home. Before any humans started arriving. She slipped her feet into her flip flops and walked home. When she walked in the front door, only Stella was downstairs. She was sitting in the den, watching a documentary.

"Morning Helena," she said without looking up.  
"Morning Stella," she returned.

"What have you been up to all day," she wondered.  
"Went around the city . . . Malls, museums, markets. That sort of thing," she said.

"Oh . . . Did you have a good time?"  
"I suppose . . ." she mumbled.

"See anymore hot guys?" she teased.  
"Oh shut up," she snapped back, marching up stairs. She could hear Stella laughing. She went back into her room and plopped down in her vanity chair, without changing her wet dress. She propped her head up with her hand, her elbow resting on the table. She took off her sunglasses and stared at her reflection without really seeing it. She fiddled with the charms on her bracelet idly, finding comfort in the familiarity. She knew the charms so well she could identify them all just by touch.

She wanted to do something but couldn't think of a single thing. There was nowhere she wanted to go, nobody she wanted to see. Except for that Joshua boy. She really wanted to find out what he was so upset about. He was the only person she'd seen in all of California that had been outrightly depressed. The aspect of a challenge, a puzzle, was the only thing she really lived for anymore.

Finding out what was wrong with other people and fixing them was a lot easier then dealing with her own meaningless life, after all.


	3. Show Me What I'm Looking For

**Show Me What I'm Looking For**

It wasn't until three days later that something noteworthy happened to Josh. It started off as any other day, just like the one before and the one before that. He'd hung out at the beach, gone surfing, made out with some stupid bimbos. Same old same old.

That night he'd gotten home about three. It wasn't his turn to make dinner or do the dishes so he hadn't felt obligated to even attend the meal. He'd gone to that Amber girl's party at her fancy house. He had a few too many drinks and eventually ended up making out in a hot tub with the slutty hostess. And was soon after punched in the face by the slutty Amber's angry boyfriend. Josh had tried to retaliate of course, but Alex and Carter had stopped him and drove him home.

When he walked in the front door, only tripping once, the kitchen light was on.  
"Joshua?" called his mother's voice.

"Yeah," he muttered as he walked up the few steps to the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and a magazine. He knew he smelled like beer and just alcohol in general, but he doubted his mother would even notice, let alone care.

"I hope she was pretty," she said immediately when she saw his eye. She already knew what had happened. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten a black eye for fooling around with another guy's girlfriend. To be honest, it was their faults for dating easy whores.

"She was," he said as got an ice pack out of the freezer, "Rich too."  
His mother laughed. "Good job Josh."

He put the ice on his eye, finding comfort in the familiar pain of freezing cold on a fresh bruise.  
"Why don't you sit down," she suggested.

He knew this wasn't good. The only time she ever told him to sit down was when she had bad news. Cautiously, he walked over to the table and sat down across from her.

"So . . . how's therapy?" she wondered. She always did that. Asked a few innocent questions before unveiling bad news. How was school? How are your friends? That sort of thing.

"Fine," he mumbled.  
"Good, good," she said. "It's good to hear that you're making progress."

He didn't feel the need to mention that he actually wasn't making much progress.  
"So ummmm . . ." she said, "The girls want to visit their dad."

"_No_," he said immediately, standing up and letting go of the icepack. It landed on the floor with a squishy thud.  
"You didn't even hear what I wanted to ask you," she said.

"I already know what you're going to say and I'm not going to go see him. I _refuse _to," he snarled.  
"He has a right to see his son," she insisted.

"He lost that right a long time ago," Josh said coldly.  
"Now Josh, just think about it. It might do you some good."

"No! I'm not going to see him and you can't make me!" he shouted, knocking over the kitchen table in a sudden burst of anger. The wine glass and bottle shattered, spilling red wine all over the floor.

"Joshua!" his mother exclaimed, jumping to her feet in alarm. He didn't answer. Just whirled around and stomped outside, slamming the door behind him. He could hear his mom calling his name but he ignored it. He just kept walking through the dark, empty streets, hardly stumbling at all. He stalked around angrily and aimlessly, kicking things and grumbling to himself.

Eventually he ended up heading to the empty beach. He found himself wandering away from the usually populated area towards the less friendly area. The beach was more narrow there with rocks and cliffs all around. On a whim, he decided to climb the rocky cliff. When he was about halfway to the top he sat down and, ignoring his throbbing eye, watched the dark waves tumble over the shore.

* * *

Helena stood on the top of the rocky cliffs, watching the Californian youth sulk. She'd been wanting to learn more about this Joshua boy, but she'd repressed the urge to follow him. She would not stoop to the level of most of her species, stalking and skulking about the night like predators. Helena Savage was no mere predator. She was much more then that. She was a scientist, studying the interworkings of the human (and not so human) mind.

She'd hardly even seen Joshua Steele since their first encounter, only in passing. He was always at the beach and so was she. She was bound to spot him every once in a while. She watched him sometimes, only briefly though. He was usually with his friends, but most of the time he was just moping and brooding. She'd never even seen him smile. Not even once. There had been that one little smirk, but she hardly called that a smile. It had been the faintest of sardonic smirks, and it hadn't even been that bemused. A situation like this was bound to spark a psychologist's interest. An attractive, young, teenage boy with girls fawning all over him . . . who never smiled.

A case such as this peaked Helena's interest. She hadn't really discovered her calling for the human mind until the early 1900's . . . Which proved just how hard it is sometimes to find one's vocation. She had no idea how humans did it in their short lives. It had taken her centuries.

But once she'd gotten a taste she just couldn't stop. The human mind fascinated her. Disorders, complexes, anxieties, syndromes, compulsions, phobias, . . . Every case was different. Every person different. She'd never had a patient of her own though. She was still in the process of learning. Seeing as she had forever to work on it, she figured she could take her time and learn everything.

Never in the last hundred years since discovering her calling had Helena encountered a case that intrigued her so quickly as that of Joshua Steele. She'd immediately been interested, even having hardly known anything about him. She'd wanted to follow him home, see the environment in which he lived and the family whom which he interacted with. She wanted to see how he acted around certain people and how he acted when he was alone. She wanted to know what was wrong with him.

But she'd stopped herself to avoid being like a common stalker. She hadn't even been looking for him that night. She'd just been strolling along the cliffs, looking over the water like she did most nights, long after the beach goers had vacated the premises. She'd never seen anybody else out during her late night promenades, until then. She'd smelled him before she'd seen him actually. His scent was easily identifiable. An earthy and vital smell, tainted by the cloak of alcohol.

When she smelled him she peered over the edge of the cliffs to see him sitting on a lower rock, sulking. She'd been delighted to have happened upon him. She watched him from the top for a while, practically vibrating with excitement. He was displeased, obviously. She couldn't get a good look at his face but his body language was enough. His shoulders were hunched and she could tell that he had his head propped up by his hand. He reeked of alcohol, like he usually did.

But this vantage point eventually wore on Helena. She wanted to get a closer look at his face. So she clamped a hand around her wrist to silent her charm bracelet before jumping off the top. She hopped down a ledge, her bare feet landing soundlessly on the hard rock. She jumped off another ledge, and then another. Until she was just one level about Joshua. Crouching down, she could easily reach out and touch his dirty blonde hair.

Still, this wasn't enough for her. She wanted interaction. She wanted to look in his eyes and see the demons brewing behind them. She wanted to hear him speak and detect his lies. She wanted to watch his body language and discover what topics upset him and which excited him. She wanted to make him smile and she wanted it to be real. And there was only one way to do that.

"Couldn't sleep?" she inquired. Her voice breaking the serene silence around them. Well, it had probably seemed silent to the human, but to Helena there were always noises everywhere. To Josh, it had probably been deadly quiet. It was apparent in his reaction. He was clearly startled, having jumped slightly. She could hear his heart rate increase and his breathing pick up as well.

His head snapped around to look at Helena, who was crouched just above him. She reveled in a glimpse of his face. Sure, he was very attractive, but Helena couldn't care less about looks. She loved looking at peoples' faces because they were the best way to tell what someone was thinking. Even someone with a good poker face had some cracks in the armor.

Joshua Steele was one of those people. Even in his surprise his face didn't portray much to the untrained eye. But Helena had the eye of a top notch psychologist, one who had studied the human mind for over a hundred years. To any other, Josh's face would be described as expressionless, but to Helena, there was a wealth of information right there.

Most of his face was a mask, she would admit. There was seldom a twitch in his jaw or a furrow to his brow. There were a few small things though, if you knew what to look for. His full lips were set in a slight pout, like they always were. She wasn't one hundred percent sure whether or not it was a subconscious thing or if his lips were just naturally shaped like that. The ring in his lower lip reflected the faint light of the moon, she noticed. His eyes were the best telltale though. They were very pretty, even beauty immune Helena had to admit; big and wide with full dark lashes like a girl's. They were a magnificent sky blue color, so light and innocent looking, upon first glance that is. But if you looked deeper you could see what was stirring behind them. These eyes were windows into a a dark and wounded soul.

She was so entranced by all the little details that she hardly noticed what most people would notice first. The dark bruise around one of his eyes. It was the beginnings of a black eye and would get swollen if he didn't put ice on it, she thought. Someone had obviously punched him and she wondered why. Still, the bruise was the last thing she noticed seeing as it was superficial. Still, she wouldn't let anything escape her watchful eye.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, "Give me a heart attack why don't you?"  
"Sorry," she apologized, keeping her eyes on him as she slid down a ledge so that she was sitting next to him. Her pale legs dangling over the side.

"How the hell did you get up here?" he demanded. _Aggressive, _she thought, _He's not happy about me interrupting him.  
_"I climbed," she said simply. "How else would I get up here?" Really though? What did he expect? For her to have flown in by helicopter?

"I meant that you don't have any shoes on," he pointed out, "These rocks are sharp. If you climbed up here barefoot your feet would be all bloody."  
_He's perceptive_, she realized with a mix of approval and worry. She was glad that her subject wasn't dense but when one was undead one tended to avoid overly perceptive humans.

"You just have to watch where you step," she said vaguely. She didn't want to give this boy anymore to work off of . . . Analyzing people was her thing.  
He shrugged but she sensed that he wasn't exactly buying it. "Whatever," he said. That was another common term among American youth. _Whatever, whatever, whatever. _The pinnacle of nonchalant responses.

The two were quiet for a moment. Helena would have broken the silence if she wasn't too busy analyzing him. His face showed definite signs of fatigue yet he didn't seem more tired then usual. He had shadows under his eyes, well under one eye. The other one just had a dark bruise under it. His eyes were sightly bloodshot, another sign that he'd been drinking. He seemed to always be drunk. Every time she saw him he was at least mildly intoxicated, albeit their first encounter. Granted, there didn't seem to be that much difference between Joshua sober and Joshua drunk.

Despite how quiet she pressumed him to be, the extended silence seemed to be making him uncomfortable. He shifted slightly and brushed his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. He cleared his throat once, keeping his eyes downcast.

"What're you doing up here anyway?" he asked finally, looking back at her.  
"I could ask you the same question," she said. She tried to look into his eyes again, to get more information out of them. But he didn't like the eye contact. He looked away after a few seconds. _Doesn't like eye contact, _she added to the mental list she had going about him. Then again, maybe it was just that _her _eyes had frightened him. They weren't exactly normal looking.

"I come up here to be alone," he mumbled, "I always have."  
"So do I," she said, "Of course, I've only recently started doing this. I hadn't realized this was inhabited territory."

He didn't seem to find her little joke amusing. He didn't even smirk, let alone smile. "I remember you," he said after a slight pause.  
"We met the other day," she agreed.

"You're Helen," he said.  
"Helena," she corrected. Eh, it was pretty close, especially given how weak the human memory was.

"Oh right . . . " he mumbled.  
"And you're Joshua?" she asked. She only asked as a pretense. She _knew_ it was Joshua.

"It's just Josh, actually," he said. _A nickname, _she mused, _Does being referred to as Joshua bother him? Does he associate the name with a particular person who shared the name, or perhaps called him by said name. _It was a stretch, she knew, but she had to consider everything. It was more likely that he just liked the name Josh better. Not _everything _had a physcological reason behind it afterall . . . Although most things did.

"Oh alright then," she said which was followed by another awkward silence. Neither of them really had anything to say. Helena was content to just stare at him for a few moments, but she knew he would grow uncomfortable eventually. Most humans did. So she grasped for something to say.

"What happened to your eye?" she asked, "'S gonna be quite a shiner if you don't put ice on it."  
"Got punched," he muttered.

_Abuse? _she speculated. _Harrasment? _She really couldn't imagine anyway antagonizing him. A parent or adult perhaps, but she couldn't picture another child bothering him. He was just so silent and brooding that it would probably intimidate anyone with the intentions of harrasing him.

"What happened?" she wondered.  
"This guy laid me out for making out with his girlfriend," he said, "Wasn't even my fault. The dumb slut didn't even tell me she had a boyfriend."

_Slut . . . A harlot or floozy, _Helena recalled. _Making out . . . Open mouthed kissing between two individuals, usually adoslencts. May contain groping or the usage of tongues. _More slang . . . Brilliant.

"And why did you make out with this 'slut?'" she asked.  
"Eh, dunno," he mumbled, "I was bored, she was hot. I was drunk, she was horny. Seemed like reason enough to me."

_Hormone riddle teenagers, _she thought, _Promiscious in every decade of every century in every country on every continent.  
_"Reason enough," she repeated sarcastically.

He ignored the sarcasm, or at least she assumed he was ignoring it. He was too inteligent to not notice it.  
"So . . . Any particular reason you're up here?" she wondered.

"I already told you," he said, his voice portraying annoyance, "I come up here to think."  
"I know that," she said indignitantly, "I meant what about . . . Is something wrong perhaps?"

He laughed humorlessly. "You clearly have a lot to learn about life," he said. "Something is always wrong."  
Helena ended up laughing herself, in bitter bemusment. This young human, who probably wasn't even seventeen yet, was telling _her _about life. What could this ignorant little boy know about life that she herself didn't already?

"I know plenty about a life, I'll have you know. More then you I bet," she said.  
He laughed again, dryly and without real amusement. "Yeah okay," he muttered sarcastically.

"You don't believe me?" she asked even though in her head it was more of a statement.  
"Oh no I believe you. Traveling to exotic places and sunbathing must really give you a refined outlook on life," he said, with even more sarcasm. The use of sarcasm seemed both natural and unnatural in him. Unnatural because of what little she knew about his habits, but it also seemed natural for his flippant personality.

"Contrary to your previous notions, I am actually _not _a spoiled heiress. Thank you very much," she sniffed.  
"Oh I knew that already. No self respecting heiress would be caught dead climbing rocks barefoot," he said. He was joking . . . Perhaps he was becoming more comfortable with her. Just a tad.

"So . . . You never told me," she said, "What's wrong?"  
Whatever progress she'd just made in chipping away at his defenses was now gone. "Everything," he snapped, his pretty eyes guarded. The walls were back up.

With that simple statement, he slid off the ledge and down several more before reaching the ground. Helena watched him forlornly, ready to help if he slipped at all in his intoxicated state. He didn't and then began to stalk away from the cliffs. She sighed at having caused him to shut himself away again.

She watched him as he walked out towards the water. He probably thought she couldn't see him anymore. He was wrong of course. Helena had eyes like a hawk and night vision like a panther. She could see him perfectly from her perch as he began to pace back and forth by the water. He was cleary troubled, anyone with half their brain function would have realized that.

He was muttering to himself uninteligably, pulling at his hair occasionally as well. He seemed to be fighting with himself. Every so often he'd shake his head violently, as if trying to clear it of certain thoughts.

Helena watched with a sort of sympathy that was foreign for her. Sure, she sympathized with humans all the time. She wasn't made of stone or anything. Actually, many considered her quite compassionate. What was foreign to her was how strong the sympathy was . . . It felt less impersonal. She didn't feel like a third party observer anymore, she felt close to this human boy. She wasn't sure why exactly. Perhaps just because he was young and troubled and it sparked long dead maternal feelings in her. Or maybe it was other feelings that had been sparked.

The reasons behind the new attachement were unimportant, however. All Helena really cared about was learning more about Joshua Steele and helping him. _Morals be damned, _she thought. Whatever it took to help Josh, she would do it. She no longer cared if it involved stalking him. It wasn't stalking in her oppion anyway, it was studying. She was trying to help him, in any matter. However, she knew that wasn't the only thing that propelled her to find out what was wrong with him. It was the problem he presented. He was a puzzle that she had to solve. And she would do anything to accomplish this . . . No matter how mutilated the pieces were she would put this puzzle together.

Helena Savage was never bested.


	4. The Only Song I Know

**I'll Sing Along To Your Sorrow 'Cause It's The Only Song I Know**

"Isn't this kind of like stalking?"  
"No Stella," sighed Helena, "It _is _stalking."

The two vampires were perched on the high cliffs down by the secluded beach. They were sprawled on the ground at the very top, trying to stay low and hide among the brush. Joshua Steele was down by the water (big surprise) with a girl Helena did not recognize. The two of them were talking but Helena couldn't hear what they were saying, thanks to Stella's jabbering.

"Then why are we doing it?" she whined.  
"Two reasons. The first one has been previously explained to you. I want to learn more about this human for my psychiatric research. The second reason, pertaining to why you are present, is because I'm the oldest and I instructed you to."

Stella exhaled dramatically. "A couple of centuries. Big deal," she grumbled.  
"Just hush up. This is important business," Helena scolded her sister.

"Then what possessed you to bring blonde for brains along?" quipped a voice.

Helena looked behind her automatically. Standing there several feet behind them was a girl. She looked about thirteen or fourteen and was probably only a few inches taller then Helena's tiny stature. This girl probably would've gotten taller if she'd been allowed to age though. She had straight unnaturally white hair that cut off severely at her chin. She had a round, pretty face with wide soulless black eyes. She didn't look particularly dangerous upon first glance, strange but not a threat. Helena knew better. This was no ordinary human. Even if she didn't recognize her she would've known. No normal thirteen year old girl wore a custom made Armani power suit.

"Alyce," Helena hissed, getting to her feet in one inhumanely quick movement.  
"Laina," returned the girl with a small nod.

Helena hid her discontent. Only Alyce would have the nerve to call her by the pet name. Not even Helena's own sisters called her that.  
"I must say I'm surprised," she said, attempting to be civil, "Last I heard you were still in the Check Republic, up to your usual antics."

The vampire girl shrugged her slight shoulders. "What can I say? Plans fell through, as they often do. I had to get out of Europe before things got to hectic. Decided to pay a visit back to the land of the free. The last time I was here Los Angeles was a Spanish missionary . . ."

"Fascinating story," Stella snapped, "Now why are you really here?"  
Alyce dodged the question, like she did most things. She didn't really even have to try to find a new subject. There was suddenly an eruption of yelling and laughing come from the beach. "Spying on humans now are we?" she inquired, going up on her tippytoes to peer over the cliffs at the beach below.

"I hardly see how that concerns you," Helena said coldly.  
"I suppose it doesn't," she said passively, "I'm curious is all."

"So am I," said Helena, "As to why the world's most elusive vampire is prowling around Los Angeles at the same time as my sisters and I."  
"Is there such a thing as a coincidence in the world that resides in that little British head of your's?" the white-haired girl asked rhetorically.

Helena was not to be distracted or misled. "There are no coincidences when you're around Alyce."  
She made a condscending face. "Well . . . I suppose I can't argue with that."

"No," Stella piped in, "You can't."  
"Still . . . I see no possible gain I could get from disrupting your little family. However, if you have any ideas, I'd _love _to hear them," she said, smiling a smile that anyway would say belonged to a vampire. All pointed teeth.

"Cute, real cute," Helena hissed.  
"You say that now . . ." she trailed off mischievously.

"You don't scare me Alyce," she snapped back.  
"That's what you said back in Greece . . ." she mocked cruelly.

"You better watch yourself you little parasite," Stella snarled heatedly. "I don't need any more reason to rip your miserable head off."  
"Stella," Helena rebuked, putting a restraining hand on her sister's shoulder, "Don't let her bait you."

Alyce looked smug to say the least. She seemed to be enjoying this.  
Helena rounded on her next. "And as for you," she growled, "You should just consider yourself lucky Lacey isn't here. She'd have your head for what you did to her. . . And I wouldn't be able to stop her. Even if I wanted to. Which I don't imagine I would."

"If I had a euro for every hollow threat I've received . . . " the girl trailed off flippantly.  
"Well this isn't a threat Alyce," Helena hissed, "This is a promise. If you come around here again, Lacey will end you. And I won't stop her."

"Don't worry Laina dearest. I can take a hint. I'll be on my way then I suppose. But don't be surprised if I pop in for a visit sometime soon," she said sweetly, "But for now I bid you Adieu ladies." With that, the little devil ran off at incredible speeds, disappearing into the night.

"You should've let me kill her right then," Stella growled angrily, "Would've served her right."  
"Really Stella, You never think," Helena scolded. "There are humans just below. And Alyce would surely not go down without a fight. It would be loud and they would come running. And then we'd have to kill two innocents. Is that what you want?"

The blonde sighed. "No . . . I still wish I could've done her in . . . Smarmy little bitch."  
"Don't let her get to you," her older, yet significantly smaller, sister advised.

"After what she did to Lacey?" she snarled, "I don't think so."  
"It's been centuries. It's time to move on."

"Oh . . . Like you?" countered Stella sarcastically, grabbing her sister's wrist and holding it up. Her charm bracelet glistened in the moonlight.  
She yanked her hand away. "That was different," she snapped defensively.

"Or maybe it just seems more important because it happened to you," Stella suggested.  
"Now don't start that. Lacey is my sister and I love her. Her pain is my pain."

Stella decided not to argue any further. Fighting with Helena was always useless anyway. She would believe what she wanted to believe.  
"Should we tell her about running into Alyce?" she wondered.

"Are you mad? Of course not . . . It would only upset her," Helena said.  
"Old Snake Eyes has that affect on people . . . " she trailed off.

Snake Eyes was what Alyce was referred to by most undead creatures on the planet. And it wasn't just because of her lifeless black devil eyes that would look more appropriate on a King Cobra then a thirteen year old. It was also because of her uncanny ability to turn up improbable events in her favor. Even when it seemed like Alyce couldn't pull off something dastardly, she did.

"Usually," she mumbled.  
"What's going to happen if she comes back?" wondered Stella nervously. "Oh damn, what if Lacey runs into her?"

"Then Lacey will kill her," said Helena with deathly calm. "And I'll let her."

* * *

Lola Santiago was back in Californian after a two month long vacation in New Mexico City, visiting relatives. She wasn't supposed to get home for another week, but she'd received a very frantic phone call from Shea Steele _begging _her to come back to LA. Shea's little brother, Lola's best friend, Josh was worse then he'd been in months she'd said. He'd been sulking and wasted all hours, she'd told her, and had had to be taken to the emergency room twice already after drunken accidents.

Lola had booked a flight as soon as possible of course. Josh had been her best friend since before either of them could walk. He was probably the only person she knew who had a more fucked up life then she did. A good percentage of his life had sucked so badly that sometimes Lola thought he would never fully recover from it. He'd been making progress though, with Lola there as his only real emotional support. In all honest, she'd been worried about leaving him for two whole months. But her stupid mother had made her go anyway. She knew she should've stayed in LA, Josh needed her.

The second she arrived at her house she'd thrown stuff down on her bed and ran back into the kitchen. Her mother was checking her messages.  
"Where are you going?" she asked, "You just got home."

"I know but I have to go check on Josh!" she insited, bobbing with anxiousness, "I told you that already!"  
"You've been back for less then five minutes and you're already running off . . . " her mother clucked in disaproval.

She groaned."Mama, I don't have time for this right now!"  
"Fine. Go . . . See if I care that my only daughter doesn't want to spend time with me," she said.

Guilt trips had never worked on Lola. She took off running out the door, muttering, "Tonta puta," as she went.  
"Lolita Santiago!" her mother screeched after her. Apparently she'd heard.

Lola ignored it though and sprinted across the dark streets to the Steele's house. It was literaly about fifty feet away from her own house. She didn't even knock when she reached the front door. She just walked right in. Vinnie ran up to her when she opened the door, sniffing her legs and whining excitedly.

"Hey big guy," she said, patting the German shepherd's head, "I missed you."  
He continued to whine and wag his tail as he followed Lola up the few quick steps into the Steele's kitchen. It was empty so she went through the corridor into the living room. Sitting on the couch was Shea with Marla sleeping next to her.

"Lola!" she exclaimed, getting up and bouncing over to her. The goth girl hugged the younger latina girl like a long lost sister.  
"I've missed you Shea," she said, pulling back.

"Same here . . . Things haven't been the same without you popping in every five minutes and eating all our food, you little mooch," she teased playfully, "At least I get why you steal all our food, you must need it. I mean, you got so tall in two months! You better not get taller then me anytime soon. I like being tall."

Lola laughed. "Where's Josh?" she wondered.  
"Where does he usually go to sulk?" she asked rhetorically, her mood immedaitly souring,"The beach of course."

"He's that bad huh?" she guessed, picking up on the older girl's tone.  
"Yeah. _That_ bad . . . I thought he was going to go over the deep end without you around. You're probably the only person he's really comfortable with. I mean, he's comfortable with us but he's never really . . . happy around here. I think the house just has unpleasant memories for him. What happened with our dad was a blow for all of us, but it hit Josh the hardest I think. Dad was closer with him then he was with the rest of us, since he was the only boy. When . . . well when _it _happened last year, I didn't think Josh would be able to handle it."

"I know," sighed Lola, "Me neither. But he's better now."  
"Better yes . . . but not _better_," she specified.

"I'm missing the distinction."  
"He's better . . . As in improved, but defiantly not _all _better, as in fixed," she explained.

"Ah. Gotcha. I should probably go find him now though . . ." she trailed off.  
"Good idea," Shea mumbled, plopping down on the couch, "Before I end up driving him to the ER again . . ."

Lola didn't answer, just took off. She nearly tripped in her haste to get out of the house. She began her walk - no, strike that, her _run _to the beach. She was running through LA, at night. Granted, she lived on the outskirts, close to the beach but not in the dead center of activity. She went down a few of the ever-so-familiar streets until reaching the beach.

She looked out at the abadoned coastline. There wasn't a single person in sight, but that was because she was in the recreational area where people crowded during the day. She knew Josh and she knew that he preferred to sulk on the more deserted stretchs of beach.

So Lola ran down the beach, glad she'd worn her sneakers to the airport so her toes wouldn't bruise if someone stepped on her feet. When she spotted a figure up ahead, she immediatly knew it was him. He was easy to spot, dressed in his usual summer attitre, long black swim trunks and a wife beater tank top. It was kind of cold by the water at night but if Josh felt cold, he didn't let it show.

Once she saw him, she took off running even faster, working to pump more oxygen into her protesting lungs.  
"Josh!" she tried to shout, but she was panting so hard that it wasn't much of a shout. But Josh heard her nonetheless, due to the silence of the beach. He spun around to see her running at him.

"Lola!" he excliamed in surprise as she ran into him. He wrapped his arms around her and swung her around. She laughed ecsastically and he joined in. It was something he hadn't done in a while. Laughing for real.

"What're you doing here?" he wondered, setting her down but staying close, "I thought you weren't getting home until next week."  
"I got an earlier flight," she said with a bright smile, conviently leaving out the reason _why_.

"Well that . . . that's great," he said. He seemed like he was going to add something but he didn't. Lola wasn't surprised. Sharing his feelings just wasn't something Josh did. Not with her. Not with anybody.

"Yeah . . . New Mexico was cool and everything but nothing's as much fun without you," she teased.  
"Of course not. I'm the life of the party," he said sarcastically.

The latina's smile grew. Her white teeth stood out against her light brown skin. "I've missed your dry sense of humor," she said.  
"And I've missed the lack of any real company in this Hollywood Hellhole," he added.

"Prada whores got you down?" she guessed.  
"If I never sleep with another stupid blonde bimbo it'll be too soon . . . " he mumbled.

Lola rolled her large, dark brown eyes. "Yeah sure okay," she said sarcastically.  
"I'm serious," he insisted, "I'm really sick of these submissive little sluts . . . They're just so easy . . ."

_That's the part you like, _Lola thought. Josh wasn't a sadist, nor did he get pleasure from manipulating people. But there was a reoccruing pattern throughout his life, consisting of having no say in anything that happened to him. But, due to his inherit attractivness, brainless bimbs were willing to sacrifice their perfectly styled hair and preciesly coated lip gloss to make him happy. It was a nice little boost for Josh's self esteem.

"I'll believe it when I see it . . ." she said.  
"You're back for ten minutes and I already want to kick sand in your face," he teased.

"Jerk," she teased back, pushing his shoulder. He lost his balance ever so slightly and laughed. He shoved her back lightly. She stumbled back quite a bit more then he did. She pushed him back and he reciprocated accordingly. She stumbled back and tripped over some unknown object, falling on her ass on the sand. Josh burst out laughing like any suitable best friend.

"Jerk," she said again, grabbing a shell and throwing it at him. It hit him square in the forehead, causing her to burst out into laughter as well. Josh was momentarily stunned before beginning to laugh himself.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that," he said, lifting her off the ground and hoisting her over his shoulder.  
"Hey!" she squealed, "Put me down!"

"Nope," he said, carrying her down to the water, "You asked for it."  
"Put me down!" she said, pounding her little fists on his lower back.

"What's that?" he asked, "I can't hear you."  
"Puta," she accused.

"I know what that means stupid, you pick up Spanish curse words when you have a latina for a best friend," he pointed out as he walked into the water.  
"Well then I guess I'll have to resort to insulting you in English, whore," she said.

"Oh, that's it," he said, tossing her into the dark water. She screamed and laughed as she went into the four foot deep water. She got to her feet just in time to get pushed back into Josh by the waves. The force knocked both of them down into the bank of the water. Lola screamed and squealed in excitement again. Josh landed on his back in the wet sand with Lola on top of him, the warm water rushing over them. They both laughed.

Lola looked down at her best friend. He didn't look that much different then two months ago, but she was surprised by how much . . . more attractive he was. He'd always been a sight for sore eyes but there was something different. His tan face was angular and pretty with full lips, adorned with his silver lip ring. His messy dirty blonde hair curled at the ends and in random other spots. His big eyes were bluer then the sky was on even the most cloudless days; they were so light colored that 'sky blue' didn't even cover it. Under one eye was a fading bruise, Lola noticed. Still, she was completly entranced by how beautiful her best friend was.

"Why're you staring at me?" he asked.  
She sighed. Josh was never oblivious, he was pretty inteligent actually. He noticed most things. Except for her feelings, Lola thought, he was ignorant of those. She wasn't in love with Josh, but he never even seemed to notice the attraction she had for him. Then again, maybe he did but just didn't acknowledge it. After all, she couldn't be the only girl who was panting after him.

"Your hair is getting all wet," she said lamely, sliding off of him and then laying down in the wet sand next to him as he put up a hand to touch the darkening wet curls on his head automatically.  
"I guess it is," he said. "That happens when you push people into the ocean."

"Hey, you pushed me. And the waves pushed me into you," she defended herself.  
"Details, details, meaningless details," he said nonchalantly.

She rolled her eyes. "You never change Josh."  
"Shea's been worried about you, you know," she added after a long pause. She wasn't sure why she said it.

"When isn't she?" he asked rhetorically, staring up at the sky over Lola's head.  
"She called me in New Mexico," she admitted, "Begging me to come home because she was worried about you."

Lola knew this upset him more then he let on. His light colored eyes went hard. "Shea needs to stop worrying about me and start worrying about herself," was all he said. He was getting moody again.

"Everyone worries about you," she said quietly. "You're a certifiable wreck."  
"And you're a real success story," he snapped cruelly.

She didn't get mad though. There was a reason they were friends. Because they had something in common. Royally hellish childhoods and just suckish lives in general.

"I guess I'm not one to judge," she relented.  
"I guess you're not," he muttered.

The two teenagers were silent then. There was nothing left to say. They just lay there next to each other on the sandy banks then as the warm water washed over them, soaking their clothes. Lola didn't mind though, and she doubted Josh even noticed. He was just staring up at the black sky, thinking. He was always thinking. Lola closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax. She felt comfortable here. By the ocean, with Josh, at night. Her three favorite things rolled into one; water, hot guys, and darkness. A three for one deal.

She was content to stay like that for hours, with her best friend by her side.

* * *

The water rushing over Josh's skin felt warm, retaining heat from the day's sun. He stared up at the black sky. He could hardly see any stars thanks to all the lights from the city. But he could see the moon, the almost full moon, it's pristine whiteness an extreme contract to the black veil of the sky.

He looked over at Lola to his right. Her shorts and sweatshirt were soaked as was her long black hair. Her eyes were closed, her long eyelashes brushing her high cheekbones like feather dusters. She looked peaceful, thought Josh. He wished he could be that peaceful but it was futile. He was up almost all hours of the night, and when he did sleep, he was plagued by nightmares.

No matter where he went or who he was with, he could never find refuge from his own mind.


	5. Pieces To Find

**Now All That's Left Are The Pieces To Find **

Josh was doing what he did best. There were a lot of things he was particularly good at. He played lacrosse exceptionally (mostly because he loved checking people) and had probably earned a medal for binge drinking sometime in the last year. He could cook better then any of his sisters, and held the record among his friends for sleeping with the most girls in one night. He had a deeper pain threshold then any other Californian his age and sulked like he'd been doing it his whole life.

But of all these talents, surfing was on top.

Of all places, Josh felt most at the home on a board. He'd been surfing since he was seven years old and in the last nine years had become one of the best surfers in LA, which was saying something. When Josh got on a surfboard, everybody just had to stop and stare. It was like watching a Pulitzer Prize winner write or an Oscar winner act. Just seeing another person so completely . . . in tune with what they were doing was incredible.

It was late evening and the setting sun was a brilliant orange in the aqua tinted sky. The reclusive section of beach where Josh spent so much time was deserted, as always. There were probably a few people hanging out a ways down the coast, but they were too far away for Josh to hear or see.

Being out on the ocean was the most amazing feeling Josh had ever experienced. When he was alone on the water in the dim light, it was like he was the only person on Earth. While he was riding the waves, it was like he was flying. When he surfed, it was like nothing else existed.

The waves that evening were exceptional. High and perfectly timed. Sometimes it was hard to find good waves there during the sunset, so Josh was happy for such an opportunity.

When he rode down the huge column of water, he couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine that he was somewhere far away from LA and everyone in it. He reveled in the feel of the cool spray on his sweaty face and bare chest. He loved the feel of beating the wave, traveling down it before it could crush him.

As much as he loved riding down waves, he loved the tunnels the most; the solitude they provided. So when he caught sight of the newly formed tunnel ahead, he couldn't resist. The tunnel was extremely long though and low. It wasn't the best idea to go inside of it, but Josh couldn't help himself.

He surfed inside of the tunnel and felt completely at ease once he was safely enclosed. The only thing he could see were the looming blue walls surrounding him. All he could hear was the rushing of water. He could smell the salt of the ocean and feel the cool condensation on his body. He felt like he was in a sanctuary where nobody could hurt him ever again.

But the feeling couldn't last, he knew. In fact, it wasn't going to last much longer. He'd been right in his earlier assessment; the tunnel was too long and low. It was quickly closing up behind him and he couldn't outrun it, if he even wanted to. He didn't even attempt to escape the incoming water.

The water crashed over him _hard. _The air was forced out of his lungs as he was separated from his board. He was dragged underwater and could feel himself being pulled by the violent current. Most people would be afraid if they were completely submerged in the ocean, blind, and unaware of what could be lurking below. Naturally, Josh wasn't. This had happened to him at least a hundred times before.

The waves carried him into shallow water, where he scrambled away from the pulling tide on his hands and knees. He coughed up water as he crawled towards dry land. He had regained his breath after a few moments. He opened his bleary eyes and looked up through his soaked curls to see a person standing there. He blinked his burning eyes a few times more, clearing the salt from them, allowing him to see that the person was Helena Savage.

She was looking down at him with curiosity and concern. The set of her lips and the crease between her eyes showed worry. But the way she tilted her head was definitely a curious thing. The breeze played with her long auburn hair and her black sundress.

"Are you okay?" she wondered, looking down at him.  
He didn't like the way she was looking down at him, so he got to his feet. "Fine," he grumbled, his throat burning with every word.

"You sure?" she asked. "The waves out there gave you quite a trouncing."  
"The fuck is a trouncing?" he demanded, looking down at her skeptically. Little Helena's head barely reached his chin. He looked down at the petite, strange girl. She was standing in front of him, barefoot with the water almost up to her knees. She had her hands on the front of her skirt to keep it from blowing in the breeze.

"A beating," she amended.  
"Either way, I'm fine. Happens to me on a regular basis," he told her as his eyes scoured the shore for his board. He found it several yards away, being washed up by the tide.

"So you're a surfer?" she inquired, following him while he went after his board. He had to go slightly deeper into the water as the current was pulling his board back into the ocean. The water was past Helena's knees now but she was still keeping up with him.

"What was your first clue?" he asked sarcastically.  
"The surfboard," she said innocently.

Josh rolled his eyes, aware that she was being passively sarcastic. He retrieved his board and began walking back to shore, Helena hot on his heels.  
"So . . . Is there any particular reason you're stalking me?" he asked.

"You think I'm stalking you?"  
"No," he said automatically as they walked out of the water.

"You just said I was stalking you," she said, sounding confused.  
Josh smirked grimly to himself, glad that she was behind him so she wouldn't see how amused he was. "No I didn't," he said.

"Yes you did," she insisted, "I heard you."  
"No you didn't," he said, sitting down on a large rock at the edge of the cliff and propping his board up next to him.

Helena stood several feet in front of him, sulking more or less. She had her pale arms crossed over her chest and was pouting. Once he started examining her he couldn't stop. For the first time since meeting, he really looked at her.

She was pale obviously, paler then any person Josh had ever seen, even on TV. She was little and doll-like; fragile looking without seeming helpless somehow. The black sundress she wore was simple and hung loosely around her petite frame. Her hair was long and a sort of reddish brown color that was uncommon in California. Her face was very pretty; heart shaped, with nice angular jaw bones and high cheekbones. Her skin was flawless, her lips a perfect bow shape. Her eyes were wide and childlike in her pale face. They were darkly lashed and a strange color he couldn't quite describe. A dark blueish purple color . . . Sort of blue and purple blending together with specks of each in one another. Kind of like a bruise. It was freaky.

"You're confusing me," she said, "Which is not something I enjoy admitting."  
"Yes it is," he said with a smirk, having a ball screwing with this girl who was so obviously used to being right.

"Alright, now I'm getting . . ." she trailed off angrily as if she was struggling to find a word. Josh found it strange that this girl who just struck him as having an insanely large vocabulary couldn't think of a word to describe something as simple as being annoyed.

"Pissed off?" he suggested.  
"Yes . . . _pissed off_," she agreed experimentally as if the phrase was new to her.

"Well I have that affect on a lot of people," he mumbled.  
"Seems to me like not a lot of people have an affect on you," she observed.

"What're you talking about?" he demanded, "I barely know you."  
"You're a very strange boy," she noted simply, ignoring him and sitting down on the rock next to him.

_Who the hell says stuff like that,_ Josh thought. Most people didn't make blunt observations like that. Not to mention, she didn't look any older then him, why the hell was she calling him 'boy' like she was an adult or something.

"Because you're normal enough to call me strange," he snapped sarcastically.  
"You don't like me, do you?" she asked after a short pause.

"I barely know you," he mumbled.  
"You didn't answer my question," she said with an eery calm, blinking once.

"I don't have a problem with you . . ."  
"Then why are you always so hostile?" she asked.

"Maybe that's the way I always am, ever think about that?" he snarled and got up, proving her point internally.  
"Sorry I asked," she apologized.

He didn't say anything for a while. The two just sat there in complete silence. Josh preferred the silence to conversing with her. He wasn't a chatterbox but he wasn't mute either. He didn't mind talking (depending on the topic) but talking with Helena was different. She seemed like one of those people who loved to pry into other people's lives; always asking questions.

As a general rule, Josh tried to avoid people like that.

* * *

Helena couldn't help but stare at the Californian teenager standing in front of her, pacing. He really was something, she had to say. She was never really impressed by beauty but Josh . . . He was a bit of exception. It wasn't that she was entranced by his beauty as some girls would be, it was just that she took notice of it. Not something she usually did.

His dirty blonde hair was soaked, making it look darker then usual. The wet curls fell into his pretty blue eyes. As always, he had tired looking shadows under them. He was dripping wet and in the back of her mind, Helena chuckled lightly by thinking of the way Stella would be drooling if she were there. He was shirtless and God did he have a nice body. A tanned and toned six pack that even she couldn't ignore.

Still, all of this wasn't what made it impossible for her to look away. It was two new things she'd discovered about him. First off, she was seeing him from a different angle then she was used to. She had never seen the left side of his face in profile. If she had, she would've noticed the scar there. Starting at the side of his eye and extending halfway to his mouth was an angry curved red line; a scar from not too long ago. A year or so, if she had to guess. She couldn't believe she'd never noticed that! Where was her detective's eye? Well, it wasn't fully her fault, she'd never looked at his left profile before.

The next new thing she noticed wasn't her fault for missing. Seeing as she'd never seen him shirtless. On the side of his chest over his abs was a tattoo. He had a tattoo too! It was the words _"Sic Semper Tyrannis" _written in curvy black script.

"Thus always to tyrants," she said quietly, nodding at his tattoo.  
He looked down at his chest as if he'd forgotten the tattoo was there. "Oh yeah, my older sister took me to get it," he said.

"It's cool," she said, using one of her new slang words, "I like it."  
"Thanks. It has a lot of meaning for me," he said and then looked surprised that he had said it seconds later.

"Why?" Helena asked, aware that she was prying.  
"It's kind of personal . . ." he mumbled, running a hand through his wet curls.

"You can tell me . . ." she insisted, "I won't tell anyone."  
"You're really pushy," he said, dodging the question.

She shrugged. "It get's things done. It's just me and my sisters at home and if I wasn't pushy with them, nothing would get done."  
"It's just you and your sisters? Where are your parents?" he wondered.

She'd told this story a thousand times, literally. Every time they moved the story was basically the same. Sure, they changed a few things according to the region and time period. Sometimes throwing in current events to make it sound more real.

"I'm an orphan. We all are actually. They're not even my real sisters. We were all adopted by this older woman named Emily years ago. She was very wealthy and liked to travel. We went all over the world. It had an affect on her though sadly, poor dear. She died back in Italy of pneumonia . . . It was really quite sad. But, by then my sister Lacey was eighteen so she adopted Stella and I. We used all of our inheritance to come here to America, to start over."

"Oh . . . What happened to your parents?" he asked. Helena found it strange that he hadn't said he was sorry for his loss. Most people did. That could only mean one thing, that he'd probably gone through worse then that story. Well, it was a start.

"Fire," was all she said. It was partially true. There had been a fire . . . Centuries ago.  
He froze at the mention of the word before shuddering slightly, as if trying to shake something off.

"I don't like fire either," he said quietly.  
_Aversion to fire, _she noted mentally, _interesting._

"Why?" she wondered.  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You ask a lot of questions."

She shrugged. "I can't help it," she said innocently, "I'm curious."  
"Yeah well you're smart aren't you? You gotta know the expression _curiosity killed the cat,_" he said.

"I know it . . . However my curiosity has gotten me this far. Surely it can't be that bad."  
"You're what? Sixteen?" he asked skeptically, "I think it's a little early to be saying that you've come _this far_."

Sixteen . . . God, Helena couldn't believe she'd been that young once. But she had . . . Centuries ago. Many centuries ago. She could remember what it felt like to be innocent and young and carefree. Even though she hadn't experienced it since her human life.

"I've been all over the world. I've seen many a strange thing Joshua," she told him simply.  
"So have I," he said, "All without leaving the country. Hell, the craziest things that have happened to me have happened right here in LA."

"Why? Complex home life?" she pried.  
"I have five sisters, what do you think?" he challenged, not even realizing he was giving up information.

"Five sisters? My, you're dad must be glad he has at least one son," she said in a easy tone, trying to sound casual. When in actualality, she liked to call this particular strategy passive questioning. He was going to give her information without even realizing it.

His face was a giveaway enough as it was. The second she said the word 'dad' his expression altered. First he looked frightened and then in pain and then angry. All in about three seconds. Before the mask came down and washed it all away.

"My dad doesn't live with us," he mumbled.  
"Oh . . . You're parents are divorced?" she guessed.

She'd realized that if she made assumptions instead of asking questions outright, he would give up more information. He may not of wanted to answer questions but he would just feel compelled to correct her if she assumed wrong.

"Not exactly," he said tightly, "He's in jail."  
_Well that was unexpected_, she thought.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry," she said. She wanted to ask why _so _badly. But her intuition told her she needed to stop right then. He wasn't going to give up anything else. That last part had upset him greatly. It was obviously a touchy subject with him. She was better off just leaving it alone.

"Don't be," he said.  
She wasn't sure what to say so she looked out at the ocean. The water looked so pretty with the dark orange sun, low in the horizon, reflecting off of it. The sky was a dark velvety color and Helena could see stars. She wondered if humans could see them in this light as well.

"Well, I gotta get going," he said, "I told my mother I'd be home for dinner."  
_He's lying, _she thought. She could tell. Josh didn't like eye contact. He usually avoided it. But just then, he'd looked her right in the eye. Most people _didn't _want to look you in the eye when they lied to you. Josh must've thought that if he looked people in the eye when he lied to them they would believe him. It probably worked most of the time. But Helena wasn't easily fooled. She noticed how he usually didn't look her directly in the eye. This change meant he was lying.

"Alright," she said, "I'll see you around then."  
"Well seeing as you're stalking me I guess you will," he mumbled.

"I am not stalking you!" she exclaimed as he grabbed his board and began walking away.  
He looked back at her and rolled his eyes. "I was kidding," he said.

Helena watched him go, an unusual sense of loneliness washing over her. She was used to feeling isolated and alone, but this was different.


	6. You Don't Have To Be Brave

**You Don't Have To Be Brave Everytime You Fall Down**

Helena was doing what she did best. As a vampire, she was good at many things. Physical trials, mental trials. Her body and her mind were lethal weapons. There really wasn't anything she couldn't do if she put her mind to learn how. She'd been alive a _very _long time. She could play almost every instrument, was fluent in seventy two languages, had medals for excellence in most sports, had degrees in practically every subject. She could cook a five star dinner and dance anything from the waltz to the tango. When you've lived for centuries upon endless centuries, virtually alone, you have a lot of time to perfect such skills.

But all this really meant was that she was a vampire above all else. Hunting was what she did best. It was they all did best.

Helena was stalking in the alleys between warehouses, her sisters flanking her. It was three o'clock in the morning and they were off in the less glamorous part of the city. Stella had suggested going down by some of the beaches to hunt but Helena wouldn't allow it. Josh liked to pace aimlessly around the beach at this time. And she just couldn't risk Stella or Lacey wandering away from her and finding him.

"Uck, there's no one here. Why can't we just go to the beach and hunt?" Stella complained as they scoured the empty streets, searching for prey.  
"Because Helena doesn't want one of us contaminating her latest experiment," Lacey said sarcastically, "Yeah, that's right Helena, I know that's why you didn't want us going there. Because your little human likes to go sulk there at night."

Helena gave her younger sister a sharp look. "That's correct," she hissed, "I don't want either of you biting him. I believe he has enough problems as it is, thank you."  
"You want to know what I think?" Stella asked, jumping up onto an abandoned delivery truck that looked at least fifteen years old.

"Quite frankly, no," Helena said, listening hard for the sounds of breathing. Or even a heartbeat.  
"_I _think that you just want to keep him _all _to yourself," she accused.

Helena rolled her eyes dramatically. "Stella, I haven't even bitten him . . . Nor do I plan to."  
"Oh but you will," teased her younger sister, leaping gracefully from the delivery truck roof. "Trust me."

"Why should I start now?" she quipped. Lacey laughed and Stella growled and then went on some rant about all the times she'd saved all their lives in the past. Helena wasn't listening though, she was just grateful for the subject change.

She didn't want to talk about biting Josh . . . Mostly because she'd actually considered it. She'd never had her own human though . . . One from which she fed from on a regular basis. Both her sisters had but Helena just . . . hadn't. She hadn't had a mate in centuries, of her own accord of course. Everyone told her that having her own human was different then having a mate. But she thought it was just as, if not more, intimate. And Helena had no desire for intimacy.

She'd been involved with vampires before . . . But never had she felt attracted to a human. Was that what was going on? Were her sisters right with their teasing? Was she attracted to Josh? Was that why she felt so . . . protective of him?

It was possible, she told herself. More likely though she was just attracted by the puzzle he presented. She was sure this 'attraction' would fade once she found out more about him and fixed him. Whenever that happened . . .

"There is absolutely _no one _down here," Stella muttered, "And I am starving."  
Helena wasn't in the mood to bicker so she would just have to succumb to Stella's whining.

"Fine . . . We'll go to the beach to hunt . . . "

* * *

Josh paced idly down an unfamiliar stretch of beach. He was starting to get bored with his usual haunt. He'd realized that he knew the old stretch of beach like the back of his hand. There was no chance of seeing anything new anymore, so he decided to go somewhere new.

An uninhabited stretch of beach that was uninhabited for a reason. There was seaweed all over the shore and dangerously high cliffs. Josh watched the seagulls as they settled atop these cliffs, preparing their nests for sleeping. Most of the chicks were nearly grown but the parent gulls still looked after him. Josh felt a little bitter about that.

He was suddenly startled when all the seagulls took off at once. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked around the empty beach, searching for the cause of the seagulls alarm. He couldn't hear anything, or see anything. Defiantly not anything that would scare all those birds away.

And then he did hear something. The faintest cracking sound that he only heard because it was dead silent. He spun around to see nothing there. He heard another cracking sound behind him so he turned around again. Again, nothing there.

Another cracking sound from a different direction. He was beginning to see a pattern forming, but his instincts forced him to turn at the sound of a noise. But every time he did, there was still nothing there.

And then there was laughing. Ghostly, musical laughter. He looked all around, trying to find where it was coming down. He was starting to get a little freaked out by all this.

And then there was a voice. A feminine, bell-like voice. A dangerously seductive voice. A syrupy sweet voice like melting dark chocolate. A patronizingly tempting voice, beckoning him towards his own demise.

"Hello little human."

* * *

Helena and Lacey were stalking atop the cliffs, searching all the beaches for prey. Stella had gone down to the shore to further the search. But Helena knew she was just so anxiously thirsty that she wanted to be the first one to find a human. Helena and Lacey preffered to let her rather then argue. She was the youngest and tended to get her way most times.

"There's no one here," Lacey said as they paced on the top of the cliffs. "It's so empty."  
"You're right. We should probably keep moving," Helena agreed, "We're not going to find anybody here."

And then she could hear the sounds of a hunt coming from down the beach. The _crack crack crack _of a vampire toying with their prey. The accelerated breathing and quickened heartbeat of a frightened human.

"Hello little human," her sister's voice drifted up to Helena.

"Looks like Stella has," Lacey mumbled.  
Helena followed the sounds down the beach and then peered over the cliff to see her sister involved in a hunt.

She was slowly stalking around a human boy on the beach, playing with him. He kept turning around, trying to keep his eyes on her. She was talking to him, trying to scare him. He didn't seem scared though, just confused and nervous.

"Oh God Josh no," Helena groaned. Did he _have _to come to this beach?  
"That's Josh?" Lacey asked, seeming surprised, "I thought you said he didn't come to this beach."

"I didn't think he did," she mumbled, jumping off the fifty foot cliff. She landed on the sand below silently. Lacey followed  
"Don't be scared little human," Stella purred. She was now right in front of Josh, a hand clamped around his wrist while the other hand carressed his neck hungrily.

Helena was pissed.

* * *

Josh wasn't sure how he felt just then. He couldn't say he was scared. This emotion was better described as 'freaked out.' He didn't understand what was going on. He was alone on the dark beach with this gorgeous frightening blonde who he could've sworn was Helena's sister, Stella. She had a surprisingly tight grip around his wrist while she stroked his neck in a creepy manner. She kept saying all these weird things to him, calling him 'little human' as if she wasn't one. She just gave off this dangerous vibe in general.

"Don't be scared little human," she crooned, running her ice cold fingers over his jugular.  
He felt like a bird trapped in the eyes of a snake. He couldn't make himself move. He was transfixed by her dangerously sharp beauty and mesmerizing eyes.

"Be still little human," she purred, "It'll all be over soon."  
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his neck. He wanted to try and pull away but he felt oddly compelled to stay where he was.

He felt something sharp against his neck but he wasn't afraid. He felt oddly curious as to what was about to happen. Which was strange for him. Considering how he was usually indifferent about everything.

"Stella!"

The voice cut through his haze like a bucket of cold water. The voice was feminine, british. But harsh like the crack of a whip. This voice belonged to Helena. But it was different. She didn't sound sweet anymore. She sounded angry, really angry.

The blonde, who he _knew _was Stella, whipped around. Josh followed her gaze. Stalking forward with grace like prowling animals were two girls. One was a tall, pale, girl with curly black hair and the other was Helena. Helena didn't look like her usual self. She had on black slacks and a black skin tight top along with boots. Not her usual barefoot, sundress wearing self. She was baring her teeth and actually growled.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, "Have you gone mad?"  
"What?" Stella asked, seeming confused.

"I told you to stay away from him!" she shouted angrily.  
"Huh?" she asked, looking back at Josh. Her eyes widened as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"Oh . . . Oh God I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, releasing him and covering her mouth in shock, "I'm so sorry! I smelled the blood and I . . . and I didn't realize."  
"It's alright Stella," Helena soothed, straightening out of the crouch and approaching her sister. The black haired girl followed.

"I-I'm so sorry! I really am!" she continued to rant, "I remembered what you said about him! I really did but I just caught up in the bloodlust. I'm sorry!"  
Helena put a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder. "It's alright Stella," she crooned, "You just have to do _one _little thing for me."

And then she whispered something so low Josh couldn't hear what it was. Confused, he looked back and forth between Stella and Helena. Stella nodded slowly and her hand snaked out faster then he imagined possible to clamp around his wrist. Helena waved at him sadly before Stella flung him to the ground with unexpected strength.

His head smashed against something hard and everything dissapeared all at once.


	7. Your Words Are Just Lies

**_These Words Are Just Lies I'll Never Believe _**

_"It's alright Josh . . . It's alright. You're alright."_

_The words floated through Josh's mind. He wasn't awake but he wasn't exactly sure if he was dreaming. He was in some kind of dark place with only that voice. There was nothing except for the voice. That ghostly beautiful voice that whispered to his dreams. _

_"Don't be afraid . . . You don't have to be afraid." _

_It was a woman's voice, he was sure now. It was a light, high soprano that sounded like bells. A beautiful voice that reminded him of either song birds or singing angels. Despite being beautiful, it had a creepy edge to it. It was mysterious in the way that it floated by him like leaves carried by the wind. _

_"I'm not going to hurt you again . . . I'm not going to hurt you."_

_And then there was a noise. The _clink clink clink _of rattling chains. Josh's dream self flinched. This noise was familiar to him. In his dreams, it meant his father's arms were about to wrap around him and drag him to the burning house, and then throw him off that damn cliff. It was the same nightmare he had every night. But this time was different. _

_A woman came out of the darkness, dressed in a black, floor length gown. It was simple with long sleeves and a high collar. She had a black, lacey veil over her face. She walked slowly, like a bride going down the isle. Every step she took towards him was deliberate._

_She stopped directly in front of Josh. She was considerably smaller then him. He couldn't see any of her skin behind her concealing clothing and veil. Her hair was hidden by her veil, making her a complete mystery._

_"Who are you?" he demanded, "What's going on?"  
"Shhhhhh," she crooned, reaching up to stroke his cheek soothingly._

_She wore a lacey glove around her slim fingered hand, concealing it. But when she lifted it, the sleeve of her dress fell down slightly to reveal a pale wrist with a silver charm bracelet around it. Dozens upon dozens of charms adorned it._

_"Helena?" he asked, confused.  
The woman lifted her veil to reveal that she wasn't a woman at all. Just a girl. Just Helena. _

_The pale skin of her face and her dark red hair stood out against all the black.  
"Wake up Josh," she said in her melodic British accent. _

_She began to back away slowly, without taking her dark eyes off of him. She slowly began to fade away as she walked. Smoke rose out of the darkness, cloaking her small dark figure as she retreated into the nothingness. All he could see was her silhouette, but he could still hear her voice. _

_"Wake up Josh . . . Wake up . . . Wake Up . . . Wake up . . ."_

"Josh, wake up," came a familiar impatient voice, accompanied by a shove to his shoulder.  
He forced his eyes open. It took a minute for everything to register.

He was in an unfamiliar all white room, lying in a bed under white sheets. Through the semi closed curtains on the window, he could see that it was evening. The sky was an indigo color and stars were beginning to appear. Sitting next to the bed was Lola, her dark haired tyed up in a ponytail, looking relieved and annoyed.

He tried to sit up and his head spun. Suddenly he was aware of the throbbing behind his skull and the sharp pain on the side of his forehead.

"No," Lola said, gently pushing him back down, "Don't get up."  
He moaned. "The fuck happened?"

"I came over to your house this morning and you weren't here. Meredith told me she hadn't seen you since dinner last night. I called Carter, Alex, and Luke but they said they hadn't seen you. I checked the beach but you weren't there. Around eleven I went back to your house to go tell Shea but when I got there, she was getting in her car on the way to the hospital. She said she'd gotten a call saying someone had found you passed out on some random beach with a gash on your head. Thank God you had your wallet with you."

Josh just stared at her blankly the whole time.  
"I don't remember," he said slowly.

"Don't remember what?" she asked.  
"Anything," he said, "I don't remember any of that."

"You don't remember anything?" she repeated, "Like how you got on that beach?"  
"No," he said, furrowing his brow in confusion but also in pain.

"The paramedics said they think you hit your head on a rock," she told him, trying to jog his memory, "There was a jagged rock next to you with blood on it."  
"How'd they find me?" he asked.

"Some woman called 911 saying that she'd found you on Raven Cove, passed out," she told him, "She didn't say who she was, but she knew your name from your permit. When they got there, she was gone. But the operator said she had a British accent."

British accent . . . He knew someone with a British accent. Too bad his throbbing head was preventing him from thinking straight.

"I can't remember," he groaned, grabbing at his hair in frustration, "I can't remember."  
"Josh cool it," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath to calm down and released his hair.

"Why can't I remember?" he demanded of her. He didn't like this feeling. He felt like something was blocking his memory.  
"Take it down a notch, 'kay Josh?" she told him.

He took a deep breath to try and calm down, sinking back against the pillows and trying to ignore his throbbing head.  
"That's more like it," Lola said, getting up from her chair, "Now I'm going to go get a nurse and tell her you're up. I'll be back in a sec."

Josh tried to relax while she was gone, and not freak out about his lack of memory. It was really bothering him though. It was like there was a cloud in his mind, blotting out his memories, hiding them from him. He knew why; he'd hit his head . . . hard, he guessed from the pain in his forehead. He'd had this amnesia like feeling before, but this time was slightly different. This time he felt like he was forgetting something _important. _

Lola returned with a nurse a minute later. The nurse was smiling kindly, while Lola trailed behind her, sipping water out of a plastic cup.  
"How are you feeling sweetheart?" she asked kindly.

Josh rolled his eyes again. He hated how adults he wasn't very familiar with never called him by his real name. Men always said 'kid' or 'son.' And women always said 'honey' or 'sweatheart.' He was pretty sure it was because they couldn't remember his name.

"My head is like pounding," he said honestly. He only admitted it because he was hoping they would give him some meds. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.  
"Here?" she asked, placing her fingers along the stitches up gash above his right eye.

"Ow, ow, ow," he said, recoiling away from her. _"Yes."  
_"Sorry honey," she apologized, pulling her hand back.

From where she was standing off to the side, Lola laughed. She knew all about his theory on adults who didn't call kids by their real name.  
"I'm going to go get you some pain killers, alright," the nurse told him, "Your sister is filling out papers to have you discharged now. I'll give you some medicine to take with you, and then you'll be free to go."

When she was gone Lola stepped forward and held out her hand. "Prescription drugs," she said, "Hells yeah."  
Josh laughed and high fived her.

"You better share those," she warned.  
"I think you'll find that my kindergarten teacher was correct in her statement that _Joshua does not share well with others,_" he said.

"Okay, you're using bitter sarcasm. Now I know you'll be fine," she said.  
"When have I ever let a little head trauma slow me down?" he asked rhetorically.

"Never as far as I can remember. There was that time you got a concussion . . ." she trailed off.  
"And I still went to the lacrosse game two days later," he finished.

"Yeah . . . You're persistent but not especially bright . . ." she agreed.  
He shrugged. "I like to think that I'm both."

"Yeah and I like to think that I'm the mistress of a very wealthy and attractive man," she said dreamily, "But in reality, I'm actually the best friend of an acoholic dumbass."  
"Eh, your Mexican, you can't judge me," he teased.

"Do you want another concussion?" she demanded, throwing her plastic cup at him. It him in the side of the face, getting a little droplet of water on his cheek.  
"Kidding, kidding," he defended himself, laughing.

"If you weren't already in the hospital, I'd put you in the hospital for being racist," she informed him.  
"I wasn't serious you know. It was just a joke."

"A joke huh? How would you like it if I called you a communist?" she teased.  
"I've never even been to Russia Lola," he said with an eye roll.

"Yeah but you're Russian, that's close enough," she said with a dismissive hand gesture.  
"Half Russian," he corrected.

"So? A good percentage of people in California are Hispanic, but how many Russians do you know?" she tested, "Not many I imagine."  
"You're such a freak," he mumbled.

She ran out of the room then, yelling, "Communist! Help, help, the communist is being mean to me!" Josh began to laugh, especially when about twelve people shushed her for screaming like a lunatic in a hospital.

Josh shook his head back and forth, laughing to himself. Even when he was feeling down or upset, he could always count on Lola to cheer him up. She was the craziest, weirdest, person he knew and she had a knack for making him feel better. She could make him laugh even when he had a splitting headache and slight amnesia. But still, there was one thing that was nagging him that not even Lola's antics could distract him from. There was one thing he remembered about last night, one thing he was sure of.

He hadn't brought his wallet with him when he'd gone out.


	8. Am I Possesive

**Am I Possesive Just Because I'm Claiming What's Mine?**

Helena didn't make a sound as she stood on the Steele's patio. She didn't even breath. It was pitch black out as she peered through the glass doors at the Steele's living room. She knew that they wouldn't be able to see her, due to the fact that the light from the room would just reflect right off the glass. They would only see her if they came very close, and if that happened, Helena could be out of there in a millisecond.

She had only dropped by that night to check on Josh. The night prior she'd had to have her sister Stella give the poor thing head trauma so he wouldn't remember the encounter they'd had. She hadn't wanted to, but it was for his own good. Still, she wanted to make sure he was alright. So that night, she'd gone over to the Steele's to check on him.

She'd found him in his living room, sitting down on an old brown couch, holding an ice pack on his forehead. A moment later, a girl walked into the room. Helena knew that this girl couldn't be one of Josh's sister. Her skin, her hair, her eyes . . . None of it matched Josh at all. This girl couldn't be his sister. After a second, Helena realized that this was the girl from the beach the other night. In her hands, she had two mugs.

"Got your coffee," Helena heard her say through the glass, as the girl danced over to Josh and giving him one. "This one's your's."  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What did you do to it?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, "Honestly I didn't do anything to it. Please Josh, even I'm above kicking someone when they're down."  
"I am not down," he argued, "At least not anymore then usual."

"You just got out of the hospital," she explained, "I'm not gonna spit in your food."  
"Fine . . . But if this tastes like anything other then coffee . . ." he trailed off, taking a sip from it.

"Well?" she prompted.  
"It's clean," he decided, placing it on the end table next to the couch.

"See? I told you."  
"Congrats," he mumbled.

"So how's your head?" she wondered.  
He shrugged. "Kay . . . The pain meds helped. But I really hope this doesn't turn into another scar."

"Can I see?" she asked, her voice taking on a strange edge that Helena picked up on.  
"Sure," Josh said, obviously not detecting what Helena had.

He took the icepack off his forehead to reveal a stitched up gash above his eye with bruising all around it. The girl gasped very quietly.  
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, reaching out to gently place two fingers on it. Josh didn't move.

The girl then, slowly, leaned over him and touched her lips to the injury in a butterfly kiss. Helena watched, shocked, as the girl pulled back slightly to meet Josh's eyes. Helena didn't know what she saw there, but whatever it was, it convinced her to lean down more and kiss Josh on the lips.

Helena was mortified as Josh kissed her back fiercely, and even grabbed the hood of her sweatshirt to pull her down to him. She conceded and sat down on his lap to better continue their kissing. She had her hands on his waist while he had his fingers in her hair.

Helena couldn't believe what she was seeing. In a burst of some kind of unfamiliar anger, Helena screamed and put her fist through the glass door.

* * *

"Can I see?" Lola asked, trying to keep her voice normal.

She was looking down at her best friend, Josh, where he sat on the couch, holding an icepack to his forehead. With his whole family out and about as usual, she'd volunteered to stay with him after he'd gotten home from the hospital. She didn't mind having to 'babysit' him. In fact, she was secretly thrilled about it.

"Sure," he said, taking the icepack off of his head. Lola made a little "ooh" noise at the sight of it. It wasn't really that horrible, but it did look like it hurt. A lot.  
"Does it hurt?" she asked in a gentle voice, reaching out to touch it tenderly with her fingers.

Josh didn't say a word and she refused to meet his eyes. Following some sudden gut instinct, she leaned over and pressed her lips gently to the bruised area surrounding the gash. She pulled back slowly afterwards, looking down at Josh, somewhat shocked by her own behavior.

Josh looked up at her with those pretty eyes through those long dark lashes. There was an intensity in his eyes. A longing. An approval. It couldn't have been more obvious to Lola if he had given her a thumbs up. She could tell by the look in his eyes. He wanted this.

Acting on impulse, she leaned down even further and placed a kiss on his lips. The initial shock was startling. After so many years of having a crush on him, she was _finally _kissing Josh. Despite how foreign it was to be kissing her best friend, it also felt right. Very right.

And when he kissed her back she swore she was in heaven. His lips were so soft . . . The way they moved against her with a hunger and passion that she herself knew well. She'd been feeling the exactly the same way when she lusted after Josh all those years.

She moaned when she felt him tugging at her hoodie, trying to get him closer to her. She caught on and sat down on his lap so they could kiss with more ease. She placed her hands on his hips, feeling the warmth there. She felt his hands knotted in her hair.

All of a sudden there was a crash followed by a shrill angry cry. Josh jumped and Lola screamed as she jumped to her feet. The little tiny pieces of glass rained down onto the floor. The dog ran into the room, barking his head off.

"Vinnie!" Josh commanded, getting to his feet and putting up his hand to stop the dog. Vinnie halted at the edge of the glass, whining and spinning around anxiously.  
"What the fuck just happened!" Lola demanded.

"I don't know but it just had to happen today," he muttered.  
Trying to force her heart beat to slow down, Lola walked over to the shattered glass door and peered outside. She didn't see anything.

"Did someone throw a rock or something?" she wondered.  
She watched Josh inspect the area around the door. "I don't see anything . . ." he said, "It just . . . shattered."

"I'll go get a broom," she mumbled, walking over to the hall closet to get a broom. She felt just a tad shaken up. A broken glass door and no apparent cause. Not to mention that angry scream she'd heard just before it shattered. It was all just a little too creepy for her.

She returned to find Josh crouched on the ground, studying the scene of the crime while holding on to Vinnie by his collar to keep him from stepping into the glass.  
"Do you know what happened?" she wondered.

"No . . . But I know who did it."


End file.
